


We all write our own endings

by krazykitkat



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazykitkat/pseuds/krazykitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s only one person who calls before dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We all write our own endings

**Author's Note:**

> Title: We all write our own endings  
> Author: Kat/krazykitkat  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Pairing: Prentiss/Rossi  
> Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the property of various companies and peoples that aren’t myself. No Copyright Infringement is intended.  
> A/N: Title lyric by Vienna Teng. Thanks to rinkle for the look over.  
> 

 

It isn’t until he says hello that you’re awake enough to realize what he’s done.

You hold your breath, hoping for a wrong number, but of course it isn’t. There’s only one person who calls before dawn.

“You must’ve hit the wrong number, JJ,” Dave says, as you turn on the bedside lamp. “I’m not Emily, at least last time I looked.”

He stares at your breasts and you pull up the sheet, before glaring at him. He smirks and you would smack him except he’s likely to react audibly.

“Right.” He glances at your alarm clock, which reads four forty-two am. “I’ll be there. See you on the plane.”

You’re expecting some comment about making sure she gets the right number next time, but thankfully Dave resists and ends the call.

That’s when you slap him on the arm.

“Hey.” He holds up the phone. “Not my fault it’s on my side of the bed. And I think I convinced her.”

“JJ’s not stupid.” You try to slap him again, but he grabs your wrist. “And it’s actually my side. Not my fault you’re such a sensitive soul that you can only sleep on--”

Dave shuts you up with a kiss, his hand pushing down the sheet and stroking the side of your breast. You’re starting to lose yourself in sensation when the phone rings again.

It takes a few long seconds to find it in the covers. Dave hands it over and you pull the sheet back up before answering in the sleepiest voice you can manage.

“Hey, JJ. Let me guess. We’ve got a case?”

She fills you in on the details, and you begin to think that maybe, just maybe, Dave has pulled it off.

“Wheels up at six-fifteen,” you confirm. “Give Henry a kiss from me.”

“And smack Dave for me,” JJ replies. “I may be sleep deprived, but I’m not stupid. I just hit re-dial.”

“I told him.” You thump Dave in the ribs with the back of your hand. “And you’re welcome to smack him yourself.” Though going by the smile on his face, you don’t think he’d consider it punishment.

“I’ll leave him to you.” JJ laughs, before lowering her voice. “I’m expecting some details.”

There’s a pressure in your chest. “Didn’t know you were into S and M, Agent Jareau,” you attempt to deflect. Your voice is reasonably steady, but you’re not going to risk looking at Dave. Whose hand is working its way up the inside of your thigh.

You clamp your hand over his and dig your nails in. The smirk is back. You harness your annoyance to get through the rest of the conversation.

You drop the phone on the bed and reach for your robe.

“Do I need to bring JJ coffee?” Dave asks.

“And a danish at least.” You almost smile at his small frown of disappointment as you close the robe over your breasts.

“It won’t make the team suspicious?”

The mention of the team kicks your heart rate up another notch. “They’ll just think you’ve been an ass again.” You climb out of bed and grab his clothes off the floor.

“You are so good for my ego, Agent Prentiss.”

You lob his shirt at his head. “Well, someone has to bring you down.” You stop yourself from ending with his title.

You feel him studying your every movement as you gather extra items for the go-bag. A mix of tension and irritation takes root between your shoulder blades.

“You okay with JJ knowing?”

“Someone was going to slip up eventually,” you non-answer.

A glance in the mirror shows him still in bed, leaning against the headboard with his arms folded across his chest. He’s giving you that look, the one that says he can wait you out.

He’ll be waiting a long time because, right this moment, you’re not even sure why you’re spiraling towards an anxiety attack over this.

You retreat to the bathroom with a brief, “Need to wash my hair.”

The shower is usually your place of solace, but your mind is contorting itself into pretzels.

By the time you turn the water off, all you’ve managed to do is give yourself a headache. And maybe a transfer to LA.

You dry yourself a little rougher than necessary, before pulling the robe back on and starting the hair dryer. It drowns out the noise for a few minutes.

A couple of painkillers and a deep breath later, you open the door to your deserted bedroom. You exhale, but your respite is brief as he walks in. He holds out a mug of coffee, and you mumble your thanks and take a sip.

“You should leave now if you’re going to have time to go home, plus buy your penance.” You start to pull together today’s outfit, moving between the closet and bureau.

Dave’s standing in your path, a silent obstacle. Against your better judgement, you stop in front of him. Experience tells you it’s the only way you’re going to get rid of him.

You focus on a point over his shoulder. He brushes the back of his fingers across your cheek and you fight not to react. He turns his hand and cups your face.

You can’t help closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, while biting the inside of your lip to keep your expression as impassive as possible.

“Let me know,” he breathes against your hair, “but do it soon.” He kisses your forehead, before stepping away.

You open your eyes and watch him walk away, but don’t move until you hear the front door close. You can feel the tears and blink furiously. You don’t have time for this.

You dress between mouthfuls of coffee. There won’t be time for a prepared breakfast, but you’ll stop and get something on the way.

You open the wooden box on the bureau and grab a necklace. The cool, smooth surface of the pendant in your hand stops you.

It’s the small deep blue glass heart you’d admired during a case in New Mexico. You’d found it in your go-bag when you arrived home. And you haven’t worn it outside this house.

You roll it between your fingertips and smile as you remember the last time. The heart matched the blue of your lingerie, but it hadn’t been long before it was the only thing you were wearing.

You hold it up to your neck. The blue stands out against your shirt.

You make your decision.


End file.
